


I Get A Kick Out of You

by reindeerjumper



Series: Daddy Darcy [3]
Category: Bridget Jones's Diary (2001), Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-05
Updated: 2016-10-05
Packaged: 2018-08-19 15:18:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8213888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reindeerjumper/pseuds/reindeerjumper
Summary: Mark and Bridget spend their first night together since the fateful evening that brought them together in the first place. As if emotions aren’t running high enough, Bridget feels the baby kick for the first time, which leads to a whole other set of emotions.





	

The sun was just starting to peek through the blinds of Bridget’s bedroom window as she rolled over onto her side. Nose-to-nose with Mark Darcy, she startled at the sight of him--it had been so long since she had been this close to Mark, let alone finding him in her bed.  _ Well, _ Bridget thought to herself,  _ maybe not  _ so  _ long. _ It had been over four months since the last time she had woken up next to Mark, but her overall approach to saying good morning was much more abrupt...cruel, even. 

She thought to herself about how she had deftly slid from beneath the sheets in the dark of early morning, surprised at her own silence and Mark’s lack of stirring. The alarm that had sliced through their reconciliation the night before had been Bridget’s deciding factor--as much as she loved the weight of Mark next to her, and as much as it pained her to leave his moonlit figure, she couldn’t relive the past 5 years again. The phone calls, the flights to different countries, the never ending pull between her and his job...it wasn’t fair to either of them. So she had grabbed the hotel notepad on her nightstand, crept into the bathroom, and began pouring her feelings out onto the piece of paper. The next thing she knew, she was slipping the confession onto the pillow next to Mark, her dress half-buttoned up the back and her shoes in one hand. She didn’t even allow herself a last look at him, for fear of going back on her word.

Now, though, she could stare as long as she liked. Mark was still sleeping soundly, his lips slightly parted. The sun that had started to show through the blinds cast shadows along his bare shoulder and collarbone and illuminated the left side of his face. Amazing what the better part of 10 years can do...the once chiseled line of his jaw was a little jowlier, and the lines around his eyes and forehead were deeper.  _ Worry lines _ , Bridget thought to herself.  _ Always worrying _ . She wondered what he’d worried about in the past five years--clearly his failing marriage had weighed heavily on his mind in the last few months, but it hurt her heart to think that he carried his burdens around inside of him for perhaps years.  _ But he always has _ , she reminded herself. 

Despite these small changes, her favorite part remained the same--the slight cowlick that his hair always created while he slept. Mark always looked so put together during the day--the once tight curls that his hair held had relaxed with age, and he had grown it out (probably to hide the bald spot that had started to take hold at the crown of his head). But now, despite the front of his hair still being combed away from his face, the back of his hair stuck up like a little boy’s. It made her want to kiss him. She smiled in spite of herself...so much could change in such a short amount of time. Never a morning person, Bridget now found herself waking up every morning around this time. Sometimes it was night sweats, sometimes it was the urge to pee, sometimes it was just her hormonal clock telling her that she had to start getting up. At almost 17 weeks into her pregnancy, Bridget was starting to embrace the changes her body was making. 

She took a deep, content breath--the sheets smelled like cocoa butter and Mark’s vetiver cologne.  _ God, he’s always smelled delicious _ , Bridget thought, mentally thanking her now superhuman nose for the reminder. She had told him almost 5 weeks ago about the pregnancy, and since that day, Mark truly had been trying to prove himself to her. Sure, there were still the annoying phone calls that plagued his hours off, and she knew not to expect him to give up work entirely, but he was definitely making an effort to take better care of her. The night before he had taken her out to dinner--tapas at a local Spanish restaurant, because he remembered that she had been craving them. 

Bridget still hadn’t told him about Jack (honestly, after his elated reaction to her news, how could she?), and she was still enjoying the attention he was lavishing on her. They had left the restaurant, her arm looped through his, and walked home in the early autumn evening. After a long week at work, dodging Alice and her army of millennials, Bridget was so thankful for a night out that was void of any expectations. She had missed that about Mark--his thoughtful silences allowed her to enjoy the lulls in conversation, and she could simply walk next to him without trying to impress him. She could feel him occasionally look down at her, and she imagined the smile that she knew was playing on his lips. He could probably see the smile that was on her lips, too.

When they had gotten back to the front door of her building, Bridget had turned to him. “Thank you for such a wonderful evening, Mark,” she said, her hand rubbing the underside of her now visible bump. “The baby and I are quite grateful for the tapas...you know how fond of olives he is.” Mark smirked at her, his head tilted to one side. “It was my pleasure, Bridget. I’m glad you could go,” he replied. His hands were in his pockets, his cheeks flushed from the cold that was creeping in as the sun sank. Bridget could feel a flutter in her stomach as the amber of his eyes caught the dying sunlight.  _ Bloody hell _ , she had thought to herself.  _ He really is handsome _ . “I suppose I should be on my way...I’ll be hard up to find a taxi this late on a Friday night. I’ll ring you tomorrow. Take care of yourself,” Mark had said, and he gently bent forward to press a kiss on her forehead.

As Mark turned on his heel to head toward the corner, Bridget found herself calling out his name. “Mark? Mark!” She saw his gait falter, and he looked back over his shoulder. “You know...you don’t always have to leave right away. Why don’t you come up? I’m sure I have some wine lying around. Heaven knows I’m not drinking it.” That dimpled smirk that made her weak in the knees appeared on Mark’s face, and he said, “Well, I would hope not.” She laughed, and shook her keys in his direction. With a quick downward glance, Mark’s eyes flicked back up to her and the smirk turned into a smile. “I suppose one glass can’t hurt,” he said and made his way back to Bridget. She felt a release in her chest at the acceptance of her invitation. Navigating these water was tricky...even with their history, she still didn’t exactly know how to play the game.

They scaled the stairs up to her flat, Bridget in front of Mark. Climbing the stairs was getting harder for her as the weeks went by--she couldn’t help but huff slightly as they reached the landing. She caught her breath before unlocking the door, but it was quickly taken away from her again when she felt Mark’s hand slide along the curve of her behind. “Oh!” she exclaimed, taken aback by the brazenness of his actions. They hadn’t really been intimate since the fateful night that brought them to where they were now. Bridget had been reserved about leading Mark  _ or _ Jack on, especially since Jack’s dropping by with grand, sweeping gestures was something he was wont to do. Part of her wondered if inviting Mark up had been a good idea--it would be just her luck that tonight would be a night that Jack would stop by with handmade tapas and a craftsman crib.

Bridget looked back over her shoulder, her mouth in its infamous pout. “Mark!” she rasped, the key still hovering by the lock. The impish smile that had been on his face quickly melted at her response. He cleared his throat and said, “Accident. Sorry.” Bridget narrowed her eyes and allowed the smile that was burbling beneath the surface to come forth. “No need to apologize,” she responded, engaging the key in the lock and swinging the door open. Bridget led the way into her flat, shrugging her coat off as she entered. She felt Mark grab it from her arms, sliding it off the rest of the way as he placed a titillating kiss on her neck. “I...I’m going to go hop in the shower,” was the genius response Bridget gave to the clear move Mark was putting on her. “Help yourself to whatever you’d like. And don’t even think about looking at my diary--I have a passcode on my tablet.” Mark grinned and said, “Wouldn’t dream of it. Take your time...I’ll make myself comfortable.” 

After a quick shower--one that she felt she desperately needed to relax--Bridget slipped out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping wet. Mark was on the couch, his jacket folded neatly in half on the armchair near the front door and his tie loose around his neck. The top three buttons of his crisp, white shirt were undone, and he had a glass of wine in his hand with his phone in the other. He had his glasses on and had been looking down at the screen when she walked out, probably reading an article online, but upon hearing the creak of the door, he looked up at her through his eyelashes. When he saw the state she was in--pregnant belly slightly peeking out of the slit in the towel, wet hair tucked behind her ears, skin pink from the shower--he practically dropped his phone. 

Bridget had cleared her throat and gestured towards him with the bottle of cocoa butter in her hand. “I’m trying to be proactive about stretch marks, so I’ve been using this after showers...care to help?” she had said, internally cringing at how unsexy the mention of stretch marks must have been. That was all she had to say, and Mark was across the room, his mouth hungrily caressing the warm, damp skin of her collarbone. “I would love to,” he had growled. She laughed in spite of herself, throwing her head back to allow him better access to the soft skin of her neck. “I figured you would,” she had murmured in return, and led him to the bedroom.

And now here they were, lying next to each other, Mark still clearly exhausted from the night’s stay and Bridget wide awake with hormonal jitters. She couldn't believe how lucky she felt--a healthy baby growing in her belly, and the man she loved for longer than she could remember laying in bed next to her. Her heart swelled at the thought, and the flutter she had felt on her stoop the night before returned...except now she could really concentrate on the feeling, and it wasn't your normal butterflies. “It can't be…” she murmured to herself. As not to wake Mark, Bridget gently shifted her weight to lay on her back. The butterfly sensation fluttered inside of her again, right between her hip bone and her lowest rib. She couldn't help the grin from spreading on her face. “Well good morning to you, too!” she whispered. 

She felt Mark shift next to her, the long coolness of his toes now touching hers. Bridget placed a hand on her stomach, patiently waiting to feel more movement. Mark let out a small sigh as he snuggled his face deeper into the pillow. Bridget watched him adoringly, and for the first time she really hoped this baby was his and not Jack’s. As if in response, she felt an ever-so-slight thump against her hand. It was barely discernible but absolutely obvious if you were looking for it. She closed her eyes, pushing back the tears that were threatening to spill over and wake Mark. Bridget bit her lower lip as she looked down at her rounding belly, completely in awe of the little human growing inside. 

When the next thump pressed against her palm, she couldn't hold it in any longer. “Mark?” she whispered. He shifted and sighed again, his hand sleepily finding its way into hers. She hated waking him up, especially since he seemed to need the rest, but she couldn't help herself. Giving his hand a little squeeze, she whispered again, “Mark? Maaaaark.” One eye appeared from the depths of the down pillow, intense annoyance in its gaze. “What, Bridget,” Mark said, stating it more than inquiring. “Are you alright?” “More than alright,” she replied, allowing herself to push him a little, despite his annoyance at being woken. “I just felt the baby move!”

At this declaration, Mark’s head snapped up, his cowlick even more evident now that he was upright. “Really?” he asked, his eyes going from sleepy to sparkling. “Yes! Right here!” Bridget said, taking his hand in hers. She slid his sizable hand across her abdomen, feeling the coolness from his fingers spread across her skin. His face was taut with anticipation. A minute or two went by with no thump. Bridget began to internally panic.  _ What if he can't feel it? I'll feel like an arse, waking him up to make a big deal about something he can't even partake in.  _ Another minute passed and she could see the disappointment starting to settle in the lines of Mark’s face. 

“Are you sure?” he finally asked, sliding his hand back across her stomach to push himself up into a sitting position. Bridget pushed her lower lip out. “I'm positive,” she replied. “He thumped against my hand. Twice!” Mark ran a hand through his hair, trying to smooth the cowlick down. “Well, maybe it's too early for me to feel it,” he said with a side glance. “I'll just have to wait.” Despite his tough demeanor, Bridget knew deep down that he was secretly heartbroken about it. The high from last night’s spontaneity was sputtering out before her eyes and she was flailing to get it back. 

“No, we must try again. Maybe he fell asleep!” she said, grabbing for Mark’s hand again. “Bridget,” he protested. “It's fine.” “No, it's not! I promise, you'll feel it!” How could it be that she was actually more patient than Mark was being in this situation? She could see the muscles in his jaw tensing as he allowed her to firmly place his hand on her stomach. “Bridget,” he said again, this time more quietly. “Really, I'm fine.” He wasn't looking at her, which she previously would have been hurt by, but she had been with this man long enough to know that Mark only averted his eyes when he was overwhelmed with some kind of emotion he wanted kept hidden.  _ Not the good emotions, I gather,  _ thought Bridget. 

What felt like an eternity passed, still with no movement. Bridget slowly released Mark's hand and he pulled it back towards him. “I'm sorry. Maybe it was gas,” she whispered. “It's alright,” he responded. “Nothing to get overly upset about. I'll feel it soon enough. And I highly doubt it was gas. Let's just drop it.” His teeth were clearly set, and he seemed to be chewing on the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. Bridget couldn't stand the stagnant silence--the thoughtfulness she had reveled in the night before now felt suffocating and uncomfortable. “Sorry for waking you, too. I'm sure you must be annoyed…” she hesitantly continued. Mark looked at her, those soulful eyes of his boring into hers. “No need to apologize, darling. You were rightfully excited. I'm glad you did.” He looked down, then glanced back at her before leaning over to his side of the bed to grab his cell phone. Bridget felt the pit inside of her stomach tighten at the sight of his phone. It was worse than she thought. He clearly was avoiding the situation so he didn't have to talk about it. 

“Hmm...it's almost 8:00. I really should start moving. This cowlick won't fix itself,” he said. He had grabbed his glasses off the nightstand as well, and they were perched with absolute haughty perfection at the end of his nose. He was scrolling through emails and making appointments in his calendar. Bridget let out a barely audible sigh. Mark didn't take notice, saying, “Hmm, looks like I have to stop by court today to pick up some papers. I'll have to stop home anyway to grab clothes, so I'll just shower there. Do you have anything I can put together for breakfast? What are you in the mood for?” His eyes were still locked on his phone, the internal struggle of looking at her and ignoring his feelings clearly palpable in the air. 

“Mark, please,” Bridget whispered. “Don't do this. It's Saturday...I know I woke you up, but can't we just have a lie in? Please?” The pitiful tone of her voice was what finally broke the spell his phone had over him. He looked at her over the rim of his glasses, the amber of his eyes catching the morning light.  _ Ugh, definitely still feeling slight love pangs for Mr. Darcy,  _ Bridget thought as she let her own gaze stare back into his. He couldn't help the very small smile that crept onto his face. She knew he was smitten with her when she could melt his cold demeanor, and she planned on using it to her advantage. She felt awful about building him up to only let him down, and she wasn't going to let him leave with the awkward feeling still in the air. The years of not expressing herself and sucking up her hurt for the better of their relationship were over--this was a new leaf in more ways than one, and the first step was right in front of her. 

He was still looking at her over the rim of his glasses, and she felt the slightest twinge of excitement.  _ God, he's hot in those glasses. Looks like a right professor or something…must make mental note to have him wear for later romp,  _ she thought as she reached for his hand. “What do you say?” Bridget continued. Mark pulled the glasses off of his face, the small smile still present. “How can I say no?” he replied, and placed a kiss on her lips. “I've waited long enough to get this back, no need to fuck it up now,” he continued, and they both laughed. “Thank you,” she said, and snuggled into his side. She felt one of his long arms slide around her back and pull her into him. “I really did mean what I said, last time we were together,” he murmured into her hair. “I really have missed you. Actually…” Bridget lifted her head at the exact moment she saw him reach for his phone off the nightstand. 

“What are you doing?” she asked. “Turning it off,” replied Mark, “so that I can give you and the baby my undivided attention.” She heard the phone power down, and her heart soared. “Oh, Mark,” Bridget said, kissing his neck where it met his collarbone. “You're wonderful.” He planted a kiss on top of her head, his hand rubbing circles on the small of her back. “Likewise,” he said. As they sat there in blissful silence, Bridget felt Mark’s hand slowly make its way across her abdomen. She let it rest there for a minute or two, enjoying the warmth of his embrace and the pressure of his hand against her bump. “Can't hurt to just try, right?” he murmured against her head. “Can't hurt at all,” she replied. Bridget placed her hand over Mark’s, feeling his long fingers beneath hers. 

“Sorry for being an arse,” Mark said. “I really didn't mean to act like a child. Probably doesn't bode very well for you, with fatherhood in my imminent future.” “ _ Now _ you're being an arse,” she replied, giving him a poke in the side. He laughed and said, “I just feel bad. I know you wanted to share the baby moving with me and I appreciate that so much. It'll happen in due time...it can't be too many more weeks before he's giving you swift kicks in the bladder.” It was Bridget's turn to laugh, her eyes looking up at him adoringly. “Can't wait...as if I don't get enough sleep already,” she replied sarcastically. “Go back to sleep. I'll wake you in an hour...I can read,” said Mark. She gave him a look, knowing full well that he meant read on his phone. “And I'll put it on airplane mode so nothing goes through. I'm just in the middle of this biography about Alexander Hamilton and I just can't seem to put it down,” he reassured her. “You're such a nerd,” she said, leaning harder into his side. He chuckled as he put the glasses back on the bridge of his nose. “I've got the looks to prove it,” he replied. 

She wasn't sure how long she was asleep for, or even when she had dozed off for that matter, but the next thing she knew, she was being awoken by Mark. She heard him give a sharp intake of breath, and felt the hand that had snaked its way around her back and settle on her stomach flex. “What's wrong?” she groggily said, pushing on his chest to push herself up. “I felt it!” Mark exclaimed. “I felt the baby move!” She was fully awake now, sitting up and looking into Mark’s face. She had never seen wonder on his face the way she was seeing it now. He had a childlike innocence on his face that counteracted the signs of aging she had observed earlier. His eyes were lit up like a megawatt bulb, the arches of his eyebrows threatening to disappear into his hairline, and the grin that was spread across his face was showing almost every tooth in his mouth. He shoved the bridge of his glasses up his nose and looked at her. In that moment, the feeling she had earlier of wanting the baby to be his overwhelmed her.

“Bridget, that was singlehandedly the most amazing feeling I've ever experienced,” he said breathlessly. “I was just sitting here, and I got to the end of a chapter, so I just took a break and decided to talk to the baby a little. You know, just, ‘dear old dad here’ kind of talk, and then the thump! You were right! It was right in the palm of my hand!” His cheeks were flushed with excitement, and it took every ounce of Bridget's willpower to not eat him up. “Oh Mark, I'm so happy!” she said. She took the sides of his face in her hands and kissed him deeply and for far longer than necessary. When they broke apart, Mark’s glasses were slightly askew, the flush still in his cheeks and the grin still completely plastered on his face. 

“God you're sexy in those glasses,” Bridget breathed. Mark blushed a furious shade of crimson, looking down at his hands. “You like them?” he said, clearing his throat and adjusting them back to normal. Bridget let out a throaty purr and said, “I really do.”  He smiled and replied, “Thought they made me look older, but I really can't see without them.” She raised an eyebrow and gave him a devilish smirk. “Mind keeping them on?” she said, placing a kiss on his earlobe, knowing it drove him mad. He cleared his throat again, clearly taken aback by the effect his new glasses had on her. “Bridget, what about the baby? I don't know if I can, now that I've felt him…” Mark replied with an edge of sternness in his voice. “It's a well known fact, Mr. Darcy,”--a slight pause as she covered his mouth with hers--”that there's no harm at all in a little fun while the baby bakes.” 

He gave her a sideways glance, the edges of his mouth upturned ever so slightly. “Well in that case, young lady, I suppose we should get down to business.” As they fell back into the down pillows, Bridget wrapped in Mark’s arms, she realized that whatever the outcome of the paternity test might be, Mark would always be the one to make her weak in the knees and love her unconditionally. 

 

The end. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> First fanfic ever, so be gentle. Also, the entire time I was typing it, my husband kept asking if I was writing a sexy letter to Colin Firth (pfffft, I wish). Also, see if you can find the little Firthisms that I sprinkled throughout (not necessarily Mark’s details, but little pieces of Colin I couldn’t help but include). Obviously I don’t own any of these characters–they all belong to Helen Fielding.


End file.
